


Man of Quality

by DaughterOfKings



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Ending, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfKings/pseuds/DaughterOfKings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever he has to attend a formal function, he brings her along. She is safety for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of Quality

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Easily my favorite thing I've written in this fandom. It draws heavily on my own army brat upbringing, though. So, while, FMA is not mine, Riza's reaction to "the wives" is ALL mine.

Whenever he has to attend a formal function, he brings her along. She knows there are other women he could take- women who would kill to appear on his arm- but she is safety for him. She was, after all, brought up for this life; when she was young her grandfather had insisted on bringing her to military banquets to ensure that the atmosphere stayed lighthearted. He'd found it was impossible for tempers to flare in the presence of an adorable, golden-haired child.

She remembers those days whenever she sees Elysia Hughes in a new party dress and white shoes.

She has a different purpose now, of course, and he brings her because she was trained to fulfill it. She knows how to act with propriety among high-ranking officers, and how to make small talk with their painted doll wives. She knows which forks to use and which glass to drink from, and she is the picture of elegance on the dance floor. She carries a gun concealed beneath her uniform skirt, and keeps his arrayed gloves in her pocket in case of danger.

And it's been this way through countless promotion ceremonies, dances, receptions, and holiday galas.

Tonight it's a dinner party.

She puts on her best smile as he offers his arm to escort her to the table, a chivalrous gesture from a bygone age. It's his left arm she's holding- he needs the right to salute- and that is the reminder that this is business. But it's business which lets them blur the line between commander and subordinate, which allows him to laughingly explain that he owes her a night out so that no one whispers suspicions of fraternization to the wrong ears. It's never a comfortable situation for her, but she knows these events are as essential to his rise as anything else he does; an officer must be as accomplished in a ballroom as he is on a battlefield, as her grandfather used to say.

She thinks it is the military's greatest contradiction to demand its officers be both savage warriors and gentlemen of quality.

He, of course, meets those demands with more grace than most. But when she catches his eye over her glass of champagne, she sees a certain weariness, and she knows part of him wishes he could be a man of peace. 

They would never guess it, the officers and ladies surrounding them at table. They think he is ruthless and power-hungry, hard-edged and old before his time. They speak in hushed tones of Ishbal and alchemy. They gossip about his penchant for cheap women and expensive booze. And they believe he will be his own undoing, a self-destructive blaze of glory.

Not surprisingly, the wives corner her when the men go out for a cigar, and question her about her chosen duty. How did she come to be a soldier? Does she truly enjoy it? But doesn't she think of finding some well-bred man to settle down with?

She smiles and shakes her head, and they sigh in dismay, because it's such a waste of a pretty face- and it would be so pretty if she'd just put on some blush and a touch of lipstick, they tell her. What could possibly compel her remain in a such crude and dangerous profession? And under the command of that heartless man, at that?

She doesn't try to explain that she is needed, and that her job is worth doing, because they won't understand. They don't know there is a scar on her shoulder, and a matching one on his, and that neither remembers who took the bullet for the other first.

They don't know she is his safety.

So she tells them it's simply the path she's on, and they are content to drop the subject. The conversation turns to other things, and presently the men rejoin them. Dessert is served, followed by more champagne. Then someone discovers the piano, and an offkey chorus of singing begins.

He slings an arm around her shoulders, and- as she expects- his eyes are a little too bright, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and tobacco. He nudges her to get her to sing with him because it's an old training camp song- something about promotions, and battles, and reminiscences of an old tavern. She decides, just this once, to indulge him.

But it is still business, so when the song winds down she makes sure he is all right to stand- their joined arms more about balance than chivalry now- and graciously makes their farewells. They've parked far enough away that no one sees her take the keys to drive while he slouches, ungentlemanly, in the passenger seat.

She is safety for him, and she is good at it like she's good at everything else.

But when she pulls up to his door, and he looks at her with a boy's shyness and a man's admiration, she wonders if it's more than that. And when he leans in clumsily to kiss her cheek, tilting his head down so he catches the corner of her lips, she thinks she knows.

And that makes it all worth doing.

**Author's Note:**

> Should any of you be curious, the song referenced in this fic is _Benny Haven's_. It's an old army song about a bar near West Point. The implied verse is "May the army be augmented, promotions be less slow. May our country in her hour of need be ready for the foe. May we find a soldier's resting place beneath a soldier's blow, and room enough inside our graves for Benny Haven's, Oh!"


End file.
